


Blood and Water

by TheIcyQueen



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Character Study, Gen, Hollow Bastion | Radiant Garden, Pre-Kingdom Hearts 358/2 Days, luxord as ansem the wise's son
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-12-06 21:50:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18225863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheIcyQueen/pseuds/TheIcyQueen
Summary: He thought perhaps there had been a time in his childhood where his father had perhaps had even looked at him in the way he looked at his research projects and chalkboard diagrams. But then the others had started coming into the picture, appearing one by one as if to drive the point home a million times over that Ansem’s favor was a fleeting thing, dependent entirely upon how novel a stimulus you were.Luxord and Zexion are not half so different as they seem.





	Blood and Water

**Author's Note:**

> Another old(ish) drabble of mine from tumblr! I've always been super enamored with the idea of Luxord and Ansem (the Wise) being related, and there was a time a little while back where a LOT of my KH buddies were talking about it...and I couldn't pass up the opportunity to write just a little something ;) 
> 
> Man, I hope we get to know more about Luxord's Somebody in the future! (Like, a name would be nice. "Rudol" is MY headcanon, but feel free to replace with whatever potential name you like best!!)

He was not unused to disappointments in his life. At first blush, that seemed an impossible thing to fathom; he was the firstborn of the world’s ruler, a direct descendant of Ansem the Wise, Ansem the Benevolent, Ansem the Magnanimous. His world should’ve been full of nothing but warmth and acceptance, affection and praise.

But there was a side to Ansem that few others saw, save for the bizarre mishmash of bottomfeeders he had taken under his wing. There was something obsessive under the calm waters of his comportment, something flighty and brittle. He would have his projects, would love them endlessly for some time, and then his attention would be fully taken away by something newer, shinier, and everything else would be left to collect dust.

Rudol, unfortunately, had experienced this firsthand. He thought perhaps there had been a time in his childhood, when he was still very small and had yet to make any missteps, where his father had actually held him in that sort of esteem—perhaps had even looked at him in the way he looked at his research projects and chalkboard diagrams. But then the others had started coming into the picture, appearing one by one as if to drive the point home a million times over that Ansem’s favor was a fleeting thing, dependent entirely upon how novel a stimulus you were.

Even had always been there, he thought. A fixture in the Garden and Labs since time immemorial. But then Braig had arrived, all loose joints and hooked smirks. Dilan and Aeleus had followed close behind, an established set attached at the hip. The Guards had riveted Ansem’s attention in ways he, himself, had not in years. They were brutish and hulking, intelligence ranging from cutthroat cunning to utmost brilliance, and as a team, left Rudol no room to compete.

And then came Ienzo—and any last lingering hopes he’d had of ever meaning _anything_ to his father vanished by the wayside. Ienzo was small, he was pitiful, and he was _brilliant_ ; a child, an orphan, a prodigy. Ansem had snatched him up and pulled him into their ranks without so much as a thought, not waiting so long as to let the bodies of the child’s poor parents grow cold in rest. Ienzo _had_ to be had, which was maddening in and of itself because there _he_ was, Ansem’s own flesh and blood, cast aside to make room for some stranger, some urchin.

It wouldn’t have been so bad, Rudol thought, if they hadn’t been so similar. It wasn’t something he spoke of often—if _ever_ —lest the others raise their brows and roll their eyes at the preposterousness of it. Rudol was verbose and easygoing, competitive and snide. Ienzo was silent and rigid to a fault, uppity and cruel. And yet…

Yet just under the surface, just where no one could see, there was a glimmer they shared. A twisted sort of cunning, the kind of intuition and perception often mistaken for cheating. Ienzo may have been rooted in the realm of booksmarts and equations, but still. Still there was that ability to read others, to find their tells.

The sting, he found, was not lessened when Xehanort arrived. He had expected it would be, had fully intended to hold his own mean little celebration to mark the day Ienzo got a taste of just _how_ unchanging Ansem’s favor was. But he was surprised to find he _couldn’t_.

Not when he already knew too well the agony of abandonment.

There would be those times where they’d pass one another in the hall, their eyes would meet—somehow eerily the same shade of icy blue—and a moment of understanding would charge the air between them. For all their differences, they were the same. You couldn’t bullshit a bullshitter, couldn’t lie to a liar, and most certainly couldn’t play a player. They weren’t so different.

But then the darkness came and swallowed them whole, spitting out nothing but bone and sinew and regret. It wasn’t until some time later that they crossed paths again.

“He didn’t deserve you, you know,” the cloaked figure said, still in possession of Ienzo’s eyes, of his voice, but thrumming with a sort of unnatural energy that set his teeth on edge.

And though Rudol was only a memory of a past life locked up somewhere deep behind his eyes, he thought he felt a pang of gratitude and kinship wending its way through the gaps in his ribs. He took the gloved hand proffered to him, and lifted himself off of the rain-slicked concrete. “He didn’t deserve _us_ ,” he added after a moment, startling the cloaked figure. “He didn’t deserve _us_.”

They would prove it, too.


End file.
